


Restraint

by Scarylady



Series: Secret Service [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-31
Updated: 2011-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:17:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarylady/pseuds/Scarylady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Three of the Secret Service series:<br/>Aedan has returned to Vigil's Keep, while Zev has remained in the capital to continue the training of his new toy.</p><p>Contains slash, D/s relationships, bondage and spank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restraint

  
King Alistair left his guards at the gatehouse of the Warden compound and, divested of this trapping of royalty, he also shed the personae he must wear, the duty he must carry.

Tonight belonged only to him and his _padrone_.

There were no Wardens in the compound. They were all on an expedition to clean out a darkspawn nest and would be gone several days. The luxurious privacy this afforded meant that Zevran’s note had been very specific.

 

 _  
Go to your old room and strip. I expect you to be naked when you knock at my door.   
_

It gave Alistair a thrill merely to read it.

His clothes discarded as instructed, there was an additional naughty frisson to walking these corridors stark naked; corridors he had walked as a Chantry innocent, more than six years ago. Especially taking into consideration who he was visiting, and why.

At his knock the door swung open. No Zevran. Stepping into the room, Alistair caught the merest glimpse of a large bed and a table with an array of disturbing items carefully laid out upon it, before a blindfold was wrapped neatly and silently over his eyes, while pressure on the backs of his knees caused him to crumple and fall forward, landing on hands and knees. The instant he hit the floor, strong hands seized his wrists, drawing him back into a kneeling position.

There was an instant of genuine fear that kidnappers had invaded the compound; then he caught a waft of Zevran’s own spicy scent, heightened by the blindfold, and felt the cuffs being buckled on his wrists, a lace tugging them together behind him.   Relief mixed with fresh apprehension, a reaction to being blind and bound.

Alistair laughed from sheer nerves. “Maker, Zev, you frightened me half to death.” A soft _tsk_ behind him reminded him of his position.

 _  
Oops.   
_

The laces now secured, he felt and heard his _padrone_ circle around him; fingers grasped his chin, raising his head. 

“As you have only just arrived, I _could_ overlook that little slip.” Without the advantage of sight, Alistair was dependent on vocal nuances to inform him of his _padrone_ ’s reaction. The Antivan accent and Zevran’s own superb ability to control his emotions weren’t helping. “Tell me, _caro mio_ , do _you_ think I should overlook it?”

Blindfolded, tied up, on his knees, and in trouble already. And if that wasn’t a loaded question, he’d never heard one. Alistair was pretty sure there wasn’t a good answer and, with his nerves jangled, his heart hammering and his cock _already_ begging for attention, he wasn’t really in a fit state to think about it.

“Er… no, _padrone_?” It seemed the safer of the two options.

“Oh? You don’t sound very certain.” There was a touch of disappointment in the statement.

 _  
Dammit.   
_   
Alistair licked dry lips, tried to marshal his thoughts and then gave up.  _To hell with it._  He slumped slightly, and dropped his head to kiss the fingers holding his chin. “Whatever you think best, _padrone_.” 

The hand on his chin skimmed up to his cheek and another joined it on the other side. “ _Molto buono_ , _caro mio_ ; very good.”  _Now_ it was possible to recognise Zevran’s tone; this was Alistair’s favourite approving purr, the one that turned his spine to mush. The hands turned his face up and firm lips pressed against his, a hot tongue sliding into his mouth. He opened to accept it, every tiny nuance of the kiss magnified by his lack of sight, the tug of the cuffs on his wrists. When Zevran’s mouth withdrew from his, Alistair gave a quiet moan, straining up for more, wanting the warmth of physical contact to offset the isolation of his position.

One hand remained on his face, the other hooking into the lace between his wrists. Between these two points, Alistair was guided to his feet, a little clumsy without the balance of his arms. Once upright, the hand on his face fell away, and the guiding pressure on his hands pressed him forward. Walking blindfolded felt strange; having been turned as he stood, he had no real idea which direction he was being led, or what might lie in his path. All he could do was rely on Zevran to lead him right, and he guessed that this was the point; it was an exercise in trusting his _padrone_.

He was brought to a stop with a hard surface brushing the front of his thighs; a table. The lace was removed and his arms freed. 

“Laid out upon this table are many, many devices of pleasure. In front of where you stand are items with which I may heat your soft skin.” A hand drifted over his bottom, raising goosebumps. “It is my wish that you touch each of these items, explore them. If you have questions, then you have my permission to ask.”

Alistair reached out hesitantly, running his hands first along the edge of the table, finding the left hand corner and running his hand up from there to the first item. Leather. His questing fingers found an array of paddles and straps, laid out carefully in some kind of order. Judging by the thickness and stiffness of the leather, most likely in order of the pain they would provide. Some had dimples, or holes. A few were wooden. Simply feeling these things, rather than looking at them, brought an unexpected intimacy, a stronger sense of what they may feel like on his body. Some were very supple, almost whippy, and he winced a little at the thought of how they must sting, while the blood sang in his veins, giving the lie to the wince.

“You may swing them if you wish, listen to how they sound.” 

Alistair hesitated before doing so, feeling a kind of timidity, as though he trespassed where he should not. But the whistle or whine of their swing, the crack against his hard palm as he tested them, brought them closer, made them real. When he had finished with each one, Zevran took it from him, returned it to its position on the table.

Beyond the various sizes and shapes of paddles and straps, there were short strips of braided leather and suede, some as soft as glove leather. Alistair picked one up, butter soft suede braided together. He slapped it against his palm; it didn’t seen strong enough to sting, hurt or even to warm his skin.

“What’s this for?”

There was a soft chuckle from his side, and a feather-light touch on his cock. “Not all such devices are for your _culo, caro mio_. This one is designed to heat rather sensitive skin.”

 _  
Oh.   
_   
Fear and desire warred within him as Alistair allowed Zevran to return the item to its place and moved on. Hard leather handles each with a fringe of leather strips fountaining from them, short whips and quirts, such as he himself may use when riding. And finally, a rattle of wood under his hands that made him shiver with a little genuine fear. Canes; these brought back in too-vivid detail some of his less successful boyhood escapades in the monastery and their painful results.

Warm, skilful hands ran soothingly over his back and shoulders; his reaction must have been visible and he blushed a little, shamed by it. Thankfully, Zevran did not refer to this, merely allowing him time to recover before moving on.

“I have a task for you. You will select for me one of these items, so that we may settle the matter of your little slip in etiquette earlier.”

 _  
Select…    
_   
Alistair opened his mouth to speak, closed it again and swallowed hard. To select his own punishment.  _Dear Maker, how can I?_  It felt too personal, too exposing, stripping him naked in a new way, offering up his desires so. For the first time he was thankful for the blindfold; at least he wouldn’t have to look his _padrone_ in the eye, see his response, when he made a selection.

Alistair could feel the blood surging though him, the unbearable tightness in his groin as he hovered before the table. He already knew what he would choose, had known from the moment his _padrone_ had instructed him to select one. And yet, his hands drifted indecisively over the array of leather and wood, an embarrassed blush rising at what he was about to ask for.

Finally his fingers tightened convulsively around the short length of braided suede and he quickly lifted it from the table before his courage could desert him. Fear and desire flooded Alistair’s body, making him tremble. Zevran took the little cock whip from him without comment, merely gripping his wrist and guiding him away from the table.

When they reached their destination, Alistair was again turned around, a hand flat on his chest pushing him back until he felt the kiss of smooth, curved wood behind him. His hands were drawn back, the cuffs laced together behind what he assumed was a bed post. His heart was hammering in his chest, his breath coming fast. To not be able to see, to be tied to a post, knowing what was coming, knowing that he had _chosen_ it.

Alistair drew a quivering breath, expecting any minute to feel the whip against his erect cock, but instead a hand drifted over his face, followed by random feather-light touches on his chest, arms, legs, face. Zevran’s warm wet tongue touched his hip, flicked his nipple. It was so intense, not knowing where the next touch would land, whether it would be hand or mouth. A hot wet lick up the length of his penis caused him to gasp, while at the same time the little whip was drawn down over his abdomen making him flinch. Alistair felt cloth brush against his lower body as he was fiercely kissed; it seemed Zevran wore only trousers, he could feel the other man’s naked chest pressed against his, a hard bulge against his hip beneath silky fabric.

The heat of Zevran’s body was withdrawn; fingers lightly encircled the head of Alistair’s rigid cock. All the little bits of body contact had teased him for more, he suddenly wanted to be held and stroked, he wanted to lick and bite his way over bronzed skin following the lines of swirling tattoos. To be tied here, unable to act as he wished, unable to see, felt almost unbearable and Alistair tugged at the restraints.

Between one second and the next he froze, as the whip was lightly laid against his shaft. There was the brush of suede, the feel of the braiding almost like knots, as it was drawn slowly, teasingly, up and down, over hard flesh and sensitive skin. When it was withdrawn, when he felt no contact at all, Alistair stopped breathing, held in that familiar moment of unbearable tension, every sense straining.

The slap of the whip on his flesh was both a shock and a relief; the sting more than he’d expected and less than he’d feared, the contradiction meaningless in the face of this reality. More slaps followed, his shaft stinging beneath them, Zevran’s fingers still curled protectively around the sensitive head. It felt incredible; painful, and yet not; bearable, but only just. As the little whip slapped down again and again, covering every inch of him, he felt that he must be swelling beneath it, the flesh heated not only from without but also within, engorged with more blood that he’d thought possible. 

Alistair knew he was moaning and whimpering; he knew he was leading with his hips, shamelessly begging for more. The blindfold and the restraints freed him, allowed him to respond strongly, to admit how much he enjoyed it.

“Tell me, _caro mio._    Would it please you if I removed my hand?” The honeyed voice of his _padrone_ cut through his own wordless pleading, the whip still curling around his cock, the soft suede seductively gentle, sweetly painful, every blow both a shock and a tease.

 _  
Yes, yes.   
_   
The words screamed in his mind, but couldn’t make it as far as his mouth. Alistair strained his hips forward as far as his bound hands would allow, his head pressed back hard against the wooden post, his breath coming in sharp pants.  _Please._

“You must answer me. I will be displeased if you do not.” The tone was clipped, sharp, demanding, the braided whip still heating his skin.

The words were stuck in his throat, _please, I beg you, please_ ; it should be simple enough to say, _why_ was it so hard? He nodded desperately, hoping it would be enough.

A soft, disappointed _tsk_ struck Alistair a harder blow than the whip. The subtle beating stopped abruptly, the pulse of his painfully engorged cock thundering in his ears in the quiet. 

“Your ridiculous Ferelden restraint will be the death of me yet.” There was a rush of displaced air as Zevran moved away, his movements as clipped as his disgusted speech. When he returned it was with brisk purpose. Alistair felt his padrone’s hands on his cock and balls, gentle but impersonal, utterly ignoring his hissed breath at having the whipped flesh handled. He felt something slender and soft, a lace perhaps, being wound around his cock and under his balls, expertly knotted, wound again to separate cock from balls and again between the two balls. It was not tight, but definitely snug, trapping the blood, leaving him rock hard, aching with need, but any sense of impending orgasm retreated immediately.

“I have been soft with you, perhaps too soft, but it befitted your innocence. Now, _il mio schiavo_ , it is time for you to learn that, in this room, you belong to me. If I say speak, you shall speak. If I say beg, then you shall indeed beg.” A palm ran over the shaft of his over-sensitised cock.   “If I decide that you will not find release until your words please me, then that too will most definitely be the case.” Zevran’s voice was clipped, sharp, the usual honey now spiked with strong spirits. Alistair’s face burned with embarrassment, he had disappointed his _padrone_.   This, plus the promise hidden in Zevran’s threats, and the careful nails now running gently over burning, swollen flesh, made him whimper.

“I’m sorry, I-” 

The hand stroking his cock slapped down on the shaft, cutting off his words.  The blindfold was ripped from his head and tossed aside. Through eyes stinging, tearing up in the soft candlelight, Alistair could see the crease between molten amber eyes, the slight downturn of the full mouth; it stung more than his streaming eyes did, more than his cock, even.  “Those words do _not_ please me and, moreover, I did not give you permission to speak.”

 _  
Maker, how did I get into this mess?   
_   
 His cock was so hard he thought he’d explode. Only the cuffs that still held him to the bedpost prevented him from dropping to his knees before his _padrone_. Somewhere at the back of Alistair’s mind the ex-Templar who travelled the Blight was screaming - _this is only Zevran; you remember that, right?  How can you take him so seriously?_ That man was not in control tonight, however.

Alistair slid down the bedpost as far as he could, until his bound hands hit the edge of the mattress, and slid to his knees, hitching his hands as high up his back as possible in order to do so. He couldn’t sink down properly onto his heels, could only kneel up, arms screaming in protest. He began to bow his head and then remembered Zevran’s instruction from their previous session - _H_   
_  
old your head up. It is not necessary to look at the floor. Be proud of who and what you are.    
_   
And so he did, although in this cramped position, looking down would have been easier.  Alistair tilted his chin up, staring up into Zevran’s eyes, while his _padrone_ returned his regard searchingly. 

 

 _  
-oOo-  
  
_

The sight of this strong, muscular man, adopting such a penitent position, despite the obvious discomfort it was causing, was breath-taking. The candlelight flickered on golden skin, caught glints in his red-gold hair and was reflected in the gorgeous hazel eyes turned up to him so trustingly. Zevran wanted nothing more than to free him, hold him, and make love to him slowly and gently, in thanks for that trust. But he had a duty to Alistair; the pleasures his lover enjoyed required a certain lack of inhibition, and it was the responsibility of his _padrone_ to do what was necessary in order to break his mental shackles, his Ferelden restraint, his Chantry-bred reserve.

Tonight he must be made to beg for what he desired.

Zevran swiftly removed the lace holding Alistair’s leather bracers together, releasing him from the bedpost. The fingers he threaded into the hair of his _schiavo_ tightened a little more than usual, hauling him to his feet and turning him to the bed.

“Face down, arms and legs spread.” The instruction was deliberately curt; to soothe or provide comfort now would ruin everything. He watched approvingly as Alistair scrambled to obey, spurred on by a single hard slap on his rump.

The four posts of the bed were well provided with ropes and chains; this room was one of his and Aedan’s personal chambers and had been carefully fitted out over the years. He threaded ropes through rings on Alistair’s cuffs and tied them off, then collected similar cuffs for his ankles and tied those off too.

By the time he was done, he could hear the man’s breath coming in sharp pants, an obvious effect of being spread and vulnerable. Zevran gathered from the table a variety of items he might need in a hurry and placed them nearby, returning to run a hand over the smooth skin of his captive’s back.

“The rules are these. You may move as much as you are able, unless I specifically say otherwise. You may make what noise you wish, unless I bid you to be silent. You may not speak, other than to answer direct questions. However, there is one exception. At any time you may tell me what you desire. In fact, it is my wish that you tell me this in detail. I may, or may not provide it, but it will give me great pleasure to hear it. Do you understand me?”

Alistair’s voice was slightly muffled, his head turned away, “Y-yes, _padrone_.”

There was a quiver in that muscular body which had nothing to do with the tension of his restraints. Good. Zevran reached for something that he was sure would feed that little quiver of apprehension; the flogger was quite soft, a fringe of supple leather strips, the intention here was not to provide the sting and heat that Alistair craved. The intention was to make him _want_ it, to make him need it badly enough to ask.

“Turn your head towards me.” Zevran saw Alistair’s eyes widen when he saw the flogger.   The _padrone_ allowed the strips of leather to cascade through his fingers and gave his _schiavo_ a teasing smile.  


 _  
-oOo-   
_

 

 _  
Oh, Maker.   
_   
The tension was killing him. The myriad strips of leather trickled down his spine, making him jump and flinch. There was a routine of sorts; the whip would be dragged over his skin, his shoulders, his back, ribs, or legs. It would alternately tease and soothe. Then, when he was least expecting it, there would be a single lash, perhaps two. No way of knowing where it would land, or when. Then back to the teasing.

It was driving Alistair crazy.

The blindfold had been re-applied.   He was in total blackness, spread out face down, barely able to move at all, and every touch was magnified. The fringe of leather strips tickled its way up the inside of his left thigh and Alistair lifted his arse slightly, unable to help himself.  _Please._  The silent invitation was ignored, the trickle of leather moving over his hip and across his waist. It flicked away and curled around his right thigh, but only once, it wasn’t _enough_.

 _  
Please.   
_

A teasing figure of eight on his buttocks made him strain as high as possible… “Oh, your _culo_ begs so prettily, but you are still so silent.”   The flogger softly slapped down before returning to torment him. “You have a beautiful voice, _caro mio_ , let me hear it.”

Fingernails scraped up the inside of his stretched out thigh, lightly teasing. Cool flat wood against his buttock. Alistair moaned, pressing against it. “Was there something you wanted?” _Tap…tap…tap…slap. Tap…tap…tap…tap…slap. Tap…tap…tap…tap…_ “No? What a pity.”

 _  
Dammit.   
_

After what felt like an eternity, he was freed, turned over and re-tied. The bindings were removed from his aching, needy cock. The flogger trailed over his chest while the unexpected sensation of a hot wet tongue on his tip made him cry out. The tongue hovered just barely within reach, if he strained enough he could just touch it. Some of the time. And sometimes not. There was the light touch of a cascade of leather strips over his balls and cock.  _Please._

Alistair knew all he had to do was ask, and this would be over. He craved more contact, longed for it. The words were screaming in his head, but stuck fast in his throat.

“If you will not ask me for what you desire, then I shall make you beg instead. You shall beg me to allow you release. Beg me to stop. Either way, _caro mio_ , I will hear your voice tonight. Which is it to be, eh? Will you ask for your pleasures now, or plead for them to end later?”

Hot wetness on the swollen head of his cock punctuated the question. A single sharp slap to the shaft. Teeth on his nipple. Alistair’s entire body felt over-sensitive, as though the nerve endings were waving around about an inch out from the skin. The flogger came down lightly on his chest and stomach, nails scraped over his balls. He was squirming, chasing every bit of sensation; he couldn’t help himself. But still, the words wouldn’t come.

He wanted to scream with frustration.

He couldn’t do _that_ either.  

Tears stung his eyes, trickling out from under the blindfold.

A hand smoothed through his hair, and the blindfold was again removed. Zevran was between him and the light, shading his eyes.   A butterfly drift of kisses scattered over Alistair’s face; landing on his eyes and cheeks, sipping at his tears before settling on his mouth. To be kissed was wonderful, providing a closeness, and a sense of contact that he hadn’t realised he’d been missing. He wanted to embrace Zevran, the restraints felt like a terrible intrusion. Teeth bit gently at his lip, the tongue in his mouth flicked expertly at his. Zev moved to his cheek, his throat, kissing and murmuring endearments. “Tell me, _dolcezza_ , tell me what you want, and you shall have it.”

“You.” This was easier, so much easier than having to admit to his… his _perversions_. “I want you.”

“That is good, tell me more. Tell me what you wish to do to me.” Zev’s teeth nibbled his earlobe while a slim, bronzed hand smoothed the opposite temple.

“I want to hold you, to kiss you.”

“Mmm, that would be nice, and what else?”

Butterfly kisses at the corner of his mouth, encouraging him. “I-I want to lick your tattoos.” It came out in a rush, and Alistair’s face flamed; even this was difficult to express, but a _lot_ easier to say than _I want you to whip my cock_ or _I want you to use that leather fringie thingie on my arse_.

“I would enjoy that very much, _caro mio_.” Both hands were now roaming over his chest, the approving purr rumbled against his throat. “I want to hear more; you have a beautiful voice, very sexy. What would you like me to do to you?” Zevran was leant over him, amber eyes glowing with pride in his achievement.

“I-”

The world had shifted and looking into Zev’s eyes, Alistair was sure he knew it too. Right now, in this moment, this was not his _padrone_ , this was _Zevran_ ; the man who had shown such care and consideration for him, such affection and patience. What Alistair actually wanted was to get these _damned_ restraints off, so he could make love to him.

“Zev…”

He thought for a moment the elf was going to withdraw from him, saw a slight shadow of the cautious distance Zevran had affected during the Blight, before Aedan tore his defences down. Then it was gone, and a tug on the ropes released him from his bonds. Alistair pulled at the buckles on his cuffs; he was _not_ going to make love wearing these things. For now, the game was over.

 

 _  
-oOo-  
  
_

The man who flung aside the wrist and ankle cuffs and pulled Zevran onto the bed was _not_ the Alistair he was accustomed to. No nervousness, no fumbling and definitely no subservience. Zev opened to the firm mouth that crushed against his and melted into the muscular arms that wrapped around him. Despite Alistair’s teased and engorged state, and the hardness within his own trousers, there was no desperation to this, no sense of urgency. He was being thoroughly and completely kissed, nothing more. Alistair seemed to know exactly what he wanted, and Zevran was more than happy to give it to him.   This drive had been the only thing that had broken the excruciating silence.

It was a beautiful kiss, not expert, but expressive of all the hidden sensuality that had surfaced in Alistair. There was a glorious, slow, sinuous rhythm to it that made Zevran knead the muscles of his lover’s back like a happy cat. When they broke apart, Alistair made good on his promise, delicately licking over the curling lines of Zev’s facial tattoo.

“You wanted me to talk?” Alistair licked a line from the tattoo to one pointed ear and chuckled when the assassin shivered.  “Then I’ll talk.” His voice was a growl next to Zev’s ear.  “You taste _fantastic_ , like cinnamon and spice.   If I’d known that, I would have kissed you _years_ ago.”

“A lie, _caro mio_ , although a pleasant one. Your Chantry had too tight a hold on you.”

“Mmm, you and Aedan should have tried harder. You should have carried me off and seduced me.” In between words, his tongue slipped down to follow a tattoo that swirled over a bronzed shoulder and down a wiry, muscular arm. This gave Zevran access to a rather rounded ear, which he proceeded to make the most of. Alistair pressed against him and groaned.

Zevran adopted a conspiratorial tone, “Did you listen to us at night, Alistair? Did you secretly wish you were with us?” The end of the tattoo on his arm led rather conveniently to the beginning of one on his chest. It had a complicated design that Alistair seemed determined to trace every line of.

He stopped long enough to answer, running his hand over the elf’s smooth haunch. “Do you remember the day in the elven ruins in the forest? When Aedan had us all laughing at you for your lockpicking?”

Zev did indeed remember that day, and rather fondly. Aedan had been giggling at him for weeks, every time he snapped a pick or broke a lock, and he had finally become tired of it. He had quietly told Aedan, with his most wicked smirk, that if there was any more such unwarranted mirth, then the Warden would be spending a rather painful evening. Every snigger would make it more so. Unfortunately, by that time, everyone else had caught on to the joke and every stifled giggle from anyone caused Aedan to wince, knowing what was coming. It had been a fun day, and an even more amusing night.

Alistair slowly licked another couple of lines and continued. “I heard it when you threatened him. Maker, I couldn’t concentrate at all, that day. And then, there was the night… I couldn’t sleep.”  He hesitated, and Zev smiled, pleased, when Alistair pushed himself to carry on speaking, “I heard everything… every smack, every groan.” He finished the tattoo, and went in search of another, down on Zev’s hip. Despite his best efforts this did not hide his blush. Between them they removed Zev’s trousers, leaving him naked and exposing the rest of the tattoo. “I was so embarrassed by my own reactions, I wanted to die. But in answer to your question; yes, I did. I wouldn’t have admitted it, but secretly I would have done _anything_ to be there.”

The tattoo on his hip curled around to his inner thigh, and was proving mightily distracting, but Zev managed a small laugh. “My Warden would have physically dragged you into the tent, if he’d known. He wanted you quite desperately.”

“I can’t imagine why he would; I was such an idiot.” He patted Zev’s hip. “Turn over.” Zevran obligingly turned and Alistair applied himself to a design that adorned one buttock.

“You were, and are, devastatingly handsome. Who would have thought that you were also such a burning cauldron of desire?  Zev sighed dreamily, enjoying the tongue bath. “What fun we could have had.”

“It seemed to me you were having plenty of fun.” Teeth nibbled at the centre of the design and Zevran hummed approvingly.

“Three is even more fun than two, _caro mio_ ; and imagine how much it would have annoyed dear Wynne, if we had corrupted you.” A hot, wet tracing of the crow wings across the base of his spine made Zev sigh with pleasure; Alistair’s tongue trailed up to the last tattoo which decorated the top of his spine. Zevran could feel the man’s hardness sliding up his cleft and lifted slightly to tease him.

“He-ey, no fair.”

“I never claimed to play fair, _dolcezza_. But you may spank me for it, if you wish.” Zev smiled into the pillow, imagining Alistair’s horrified face.

There was a short, pregnant pause, followed by a flurry of activity. Alistair moved to sit on the edge of the bed faster than Zev would have thought possible in such a big man, and moments later he found himself physically hauled across a pair of brawny knees. He laughed uproariously. “Oh, we are playing, are we? Well now, you are full of surprises.”

Zev was being quite firmly held with one hand across his waist. There was no doubt he could wriggle away if he chose, but, with such a delicious twist, he wouldn’t dream of trying.

Alistair’s hand circling on his buttock was warm and calloused. “You don’t think I’ll go through with it, do you?”

“I sincerely hope so, my dear one. I can beg quite prettily, if it would help?”

“Hmm, teaching me by example?” The large hand remained motionless on his skin, waiting. Zevran squirmed encouragingly. He’d expected it to be _months_ before he could coax Alistair to switch. The man was certainly full of intriguing mysteries.

The first spank was too hard; understandably, Alistair had no real idea about warm-ups. Zev didn’t mind at all; he had dealt with far worse and knew it would balance out before long. “Again please, my other buttock is _cold_.” A stinging slap obliged him, followed by another pair.

“Mmm, do not stop; give me a good, hard spanking.” The opportunity to draw Alistair out and show him the joy of shameless speech was too good to miss, but Zev had to admit he was also enjoying this. It had been a very long time since he had been in such a delightfully childish and simplistic position. Alistair had a hard hand and he was not sparing his victim at all.

Zevran worked one hand down between the other man’s legs, finding where his soft sac lay on the bed. Alistair hissed as he cupped it and the next few spanks landed somewhat harder. “Oh, and now I know how to get more, it seems.” Zev dragged his nails over the sensitive skin, provoking a flurry that warmed him nicely.

“Harder, _caro mio_ , spank me harder.” Alistair seemed to have discovered the pleasure of working on an even colour; the spanks were being spread over the whole surface and the heat was starting to work its way into Zevran’s groin. He groaned quietly and lifted his bottom enticingly; he’d forgotten just how _good_ this felt.

“It stings beautifully, my gorgeous lover. Do not stop.” Alistair was breathing hard, and he didn’t think it was from the exertion. The erection pressed against Zev’s belly felt like an iron bar. He slowly and deliberately wriggled on it and caught the other’s man’s gasp over the sound of a hard hand smacking on soft flesh.

“Zev, be still.” The growling tone thrilled him.

“As you wish, _padrone_.” The honorific caused Alistair’s pace to falter, which Zev had entirely expected. There were _so many_ different ways he was enjoying this. 

But as the heat and pain built he was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on anything else. “Please, do not stop.” There was no tease in the request and the way Alistair lifted the base of his cheeks with the next two spanks made him groan approvingly. Zevran didn’t dare wriggle now; any friction and he would come for sure. This might be soft play with a beginner, but his training was ground in too deeply to do any such thing without permission.

By the time Alistair’s hand lay motionless on his glowing backside, Zevran was panting, weak with need. “Please…”

Fingers trailed lightly over hot, sensitive skin, making him hiss. “What do you want from me?” The unexpectedly confident response worked to make Zev burn for him even more.

“I want you to take me. I want you to take me _now_.”

There was a tiny pause. “Will you show me how to… make ready?” The strong hand holding him in place shifted, helping him to rise. Zev nodded and planted a soft kiss on the lips of the seated man, noting the returning vulnerability in his eyes.

“Of course, _caro mio_. I will show you everything.”  


 _  
-oOo-  
  
_

“Slowly, my dear one, rub until you feel the muscles relax a little.”

Alistair carefully did as he was told, remembering how it had felt when Zev had done the same to him at the party.   Neither of them was touching each other very much by this stage; if Zev felt anything like he did, any more contact might just be enough to make everything go pear-shaped. However, he couldn’t resist licking a single stripe up Zev’s hard cock just at the moment when the muscles gave way and he slipped an oiled finger inside.

It was worth it for the colourful Antivan curses alone.

Watching Zev moving against his hand, clearly enjoying the intrusion, was a revelation to Alistair. He still hadn’t got used to the idea that someone found him sexy, found him desirable. Making love to a man hadn’t exactly been his intention, but comparing the warmth and joy he’d found here to the cold efficiency his Queen expected from him… Well, adapting to a male body was a very small price to pay.

A second finger joined the first and Zevran groaned and squirmed, pressing down against his hand. He planted a kiss on the Antivan’s hip.

“Oil yourself, _caro mio_. I want you inside me.”

Nerves squirmed in Alistair’s stomach as he did what he was bid. It seemed such a small hole; surely he’d hurt the elf.

“Good, now kneel right here.” 

Zevran brought his legs up with an astonishing degree of flexibility, providing the best access. Kneeling between them, Alistair tentatively pushed his slippery tip against that tight rim of muscles. Even after preparing it, he thought it was too small to take him, but it began to give under the pressure almost immediately. The pressure on the head of his cock made him gasp sharply and only Zev’s encouragement kept him pressing gently forward.

“Maker, Zev, you’re so tight.” Alistair was hanging onto his control by his fingernails, after such a long session of play. The head slipped through and everything got a little easier. He could hear himself panting, and deliberately drew on Templar techniques to slow everything down. Inch by inch he slipped further in until he was fully seated, feeling incredibly intense, tight heat surround him.

“Now wait, _mio dolce_ , do not move.” They both paused, breathing heavily, while Zevran adjusted to the intrusion of Alistair’s cock, buried to the balls in his hole. Then he dropped his legs over Alistair’s shoulders, tightening everything even more and nodded. “Slowly, let us enjoy it as long as possible, yes?”

 _  
Slowly… right.   
_   
 He began to move tentatively, held in a hot vice. “Sweet Maker,” he groaned, “that’s just…”

“ _fantastico_.” Zevran finished for him, using his legs to pull himself a little further onto Alistair’s length. “Yes, that is good, a little harder, _caro mio_.” He gasped as Alistair complied and reached for a calloused, slightly oily hand. “Please; touch me.”

Alistair’s mind was definitely losing the battle with his body, but he managed to wrap his hand around Zev’s cock as requested, finding with his fingers the places where the blood surged and stiffened it, finding which spots on the flared edge made him respond. He picked up his own pace, matching the movement of hand and hips until their cries and curses made a chorus.

He felt the surge, the final stiffening and tightened his grip on Zev’s length, trying to take him to the same place. “Zev, I’m… I can’t…”

“Yes, I know, I feel you…”

They began to slam together, all caution abandoned and, when Alistair swelled, ready to climax, he felt the change in the flesh in his hand. Moments later he exploded, pressed deep inside, hips thrust forward and held rigid, his hand tightening convulsively. As he shuddered, his seed pulsing out in ever-decreasing spurts, Alistair heard Zev’s wild cry and felt the cock in his fist surge, pumping over bronzed skin and muscle.

 _  
-oOo-  
  
_

“Alistair?”

“Hmm?”

They were clean and relaxed, Alistair’s head on Zevran’s chest, one tanned hand sliding through short, red-gold hair as the thoughts flowed.

“I think I owe you an apology.”

“What?” That brought the human’s head up sharply, brows twitched down over hazel eyes. “I can’t imagine why.”

Zevran sighed, rubbing his thumb over one high cheekbone. “I failed you as a _padrone, caro mio._ I thought I could break through your Chantry conditioning with a little tease and torment, yes? That, eventually, the words would pour from you and all would be well.” He shook his head slowly. “I was wrong, I saw that when you broke and when you finally spoke. It is not your Chantry upbringing that stops you from speaking, and the problem still exists.”

“But… I talked. A lot. I thought that was what you wanted.” Alistair sounded hurt, wounded by the suggestion that he had not done as he ought.

“You did beautifully, _mio dolce_ , do not worry. But, tell me; could you now inform me when you want a little whipping?

Colour flushed immediately up Alistair’s neck and face. “I… don’t know. Maybe.” It sounded to Zev like there was quite a lot of _no_ in that _maybe_.

“You spoke eloquently about some desires. Others are still a problem for you.” Zev hesitated, fighting an unusual sense of humility. “If you still trust me to be your _padrone_ , we could try again.”

The smile that dawned on Alistair’s face held so much affection it left him momentarily breathless. The heavily muscled body draped against his was withdrawn, moving immediately to kneel on the bed beside him.

“Your desire is my command, _padrone_.”

It was a moment before Zevran could respond; an obstruction in his throat must first be swallowed. “Hmm, your eagerness is impressive, but perhaps a little premature.” He sat up, kneeling opposite his lover. “First, we need to discuss this a little.”

Zev frowned, considering, “Tell me, when you switched; when you drew me over your lap,” the frown changed to a mischievous smirk, “and beat me so brutally, did that cause you any fear or embarrassment?”

“I was a bit frightened of hurting you,” Alistair’s sudden grin was boyish and charming, “but then I remembered how scary Aedan is, and figured you must be pretty tough.”

This drew a spontaneous laugh. “My Warden is a pussycat, a kitten. The _Corvi_ trained me both as _schiavo_ and _padrone,_ together with all the other seduction skills of a high class whore, because marks are most vulnerable in the bedroom, no? My training was harsher than you could ever imagine.”

Alistair appeared slightly troubled by this. “If that’s the case, how can you still enjoy it?”

“We were taught to.” Zevran shrugged with assumed nonchalance, feeling the cold ice of his Crow personae darkening his mind. “If you are regularly beaten while someone pleasures you, then after a while you learn to associate the two. An assassin must be believable, the marks must see your cock rise for them whatever they do, so that they are relaxed and off-guard when the best moment for the kill occurs.” 

The horror on Alistair’s face made Zevran squirm uncomfortably. “Come, this is not what we were speaking of. My original point was that you had no difficulty speaking of your enjoyment of my body, or of your desire to join us years ago. You showed no hesitation or embarrassment in drawing me onto your knee, did you? Yet, I think that you still find it difficult to ask for your own pleasures.”

Alistair rubbed his forehead in frustration. “Only the… the _deviant_ ones.” Even this admission seemed to have been forced out, squeezed past an obstruction.

Zev smiled at him knowingly. “Oh?” He crept forward on hands and knees and licked a slow line from taut abdomen to collarbone. “So, you don’t think that licking every line of a man’s tattoos is deviant, my lover?” His voice was a soft murmur against the pulse at the base of Alistair’s throat; he could feel it fluttering in response. “I think there was a time when you would have thought so.”

He turned slightly, leaning his head against a broad shoulder. Alistair’s arms came round him and Zev sighed, relaxing into his embrace. “You see what I am saying? Everything else is a moving target as your mind broadens, and yet you still cannot ask for a simple smack, however much you want it. Something is stopping you.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not completely sure. Shall we try some experiments?”  


 _  
-oOo-  
  
_

As instructed, Alistair retrieved the flogger from the table and returned to where his _padrone_ sat on the edge of the bed. He knelt before him and offered it.

Zevran took it from his hand and allowed the fringes to trickle through his fingers. “ _Buono_. Now, tell me how this makes you feel.”

“Um… nervous…and… excited.” Alistair was blushing furiously, wriggling uncomfortably on his heels, while his returning erection told a different story. “I have butterflies in my stomach.”

“This is a good thing, is it not? The nerves and the excitement bring you enjoyment?”

“Y-yes.”

“Of course they do. You are looking forward to a pleasurable time; that is as it should be.” Zevran frowned slightly, looking down at the handsome, bashful man before him. “And what if I said that you must do some other things for me, in order to receive that pleasure? What then?”

No apparent increase in nerves; Alistair’s face was trustful. “What do you wish of me, _padrone_?”

“Well now, let me see…” He watched his _schiavo’s_ reactions carefully. “I think I would enjoy seeing you caress yourself.”

Alistair’s face burned, but the fearful courage that Zevran so much admired was still there. Still kneeling at his padrone’s feet, he slowly reached for his own erection, sliding his fingers over the shaft and rubbing the tip with his thumb. His eyes slid shut and his chest quivered slightly as he breathed, obviously quite powerfully stimulated by being watched.

“Keep your eyes open, _caro mio._  Tell me, how does it make you feel to do this?”

Alistair obediently opened his eyes, although a fresh flush of colour rose in his cheeks when he met Zevran’s gaze. The Antivan smiled at him encouragingly.  “You are a truly gorgeous sight, very sexy. Tell me how you feel.”

“I- I like to do this for you.” Saying this appeared to be a struggle, but once it was out, Zevran watched Alistair visibly relax. His hand tightened around his shaft and his spare hand slid down to his balls. “Being admired, feeling wanted… I’ve never had this before.” Under Zevran’s openly admiring gaze, he preened a little, straightening his back, shifting his hips forwards. 

“That’s beautiful, _caro mio_ , yes, hold that posture.” Caressing hands moved gently over hard flesh; Alistair was teasing himself to please his _padrone_. Zevran felt his own surge of heat and tightness in response, almost better than being touched. As was his wont, he shared this in return. “Watching you touch yourself, in such a way, makes me very hot for you. Your willingness, your obedience and your courage; they drive me mad with desire.” 

The more he told Alistair how good it was, the more the man threw himself into it, the more he relaxed. “Do not stop, _dolcezza_ , continue to give us both this pleasure. Maybe in a short while, we shall try this little whip, yes?” Alistair’s back arched immediately at the words, a convulsive movement that he had no control over, and his mouth opened and softened; the whole move reeked of longing. His eyes had drifted shut again, and this time his _padrone_ permitted it. “You would enjoy that?”

“I-“ His body was still moving fluidly, his hands still stroked and rubbed, but Zevran watched Alistair’s throat bob and close.

“It will give me great pleasure to see you so. To see you bent over, with your back arched, your _culo_ raised high, your whole body begging for the whip.” The groan that ripped out of the kneeling man’s throat ached with desire. Zevran knew he couldn’t continue this too long, or the depth of Alistair’s need would tip him over the edge, even with the light, fluttering touches he was using. “It would please me even more to hear you beg with your voice, _caro mio_. Come; tell me of your desire.”

This was the way forward, Zev was sure of it. Denial had not worked, had only made the insecure man feel isolated and afraid. But his desire for affection and admiration would press him forward. “I need to hear you. I know you will not deny me this pleasure.” There was a massive struggle going on, it was visible in the tight lines of the man’s throat and jaw, in the crease between his closed eyes.

“I- I… _please_.” It was choked out, and in the very instant it was said Alistair’s face screwed up like a child’s. Tears poured down his face, utterly overwhelming him, leaving him bewildered.   “I don’t… Why am I…?”

Zev knelt on the floor before him and pulled him into a comforting embrace. This was not the tears of sadness; there was no grief, no shaking shoulders. It was not the tears of frustration that had been shed earlier. This was a raging torrent of tears without an emotion to attach them to, the kind that you wipe away and look at your wet hands in disbelief, wondering where they came from. This was the release of something so old it was unlikely that Alistair could even name what it was. Zevran had seen it all before, many times, and had even learnt not to envy it… much.

“Shh, do not worry. See, all this was pent up inside you, it is not healthy.” Zevran wiped Alistair’s streaming eyes, kissed his tremulous mouth. “It’s over _caro mio_ ; you are free of it.” 


End file.
